Awe, Valentines Day… Are you one of those unlucky people in a relationship and have ended up forking out more money than you ever wanted to on flowers, chocolates, jewellery and condoms, because of some pagan festival? This particular pagan festival started with priestly types sacrificing goats and dogs and then running through the streets slapping fair maidens and wheat with the blood soaked strips of hide. Makes you wonder why they put those cute photos of puppies on “Be My Valentine” cards. Anyway, like modern Valentine’s Day, the pagans also ended the day with all the blood smeared single ladies gathering together with the single guys and pairing off for the next year by sheer pot-luck… Which is almost identical to the sad display I’ve seen play out at Valentine’s Day parties when the booze and desperation overpower any sense of pride or better judgement, the single, lonely and whorishly dressed resort to hooking up with whatever dregs are still on the dance floor.

It’s all true, pretty far from the commercialized day of romantic love exploited by card companies, chocolate manufacturers, florists (I just have to interject here that arranging and selling flowers could be rated as one of the most useless and, unskilled professions I can think of. Get a real fucking job!), restaurants and those guys on the side of the road selling various cheap and nasty last-minute gifts.

I don’t pity you at all you, couples, you needy two person hybrid motherfuckers. You’re smug as fuck on the day, safe in knowledge that there is someone other than your mother who loves you. You’ll likely end the day in some kind of carnal act. Even if it’s just a lazy, short obligatory bashing of bits. Everyone can smell the superiority you feel to every unattached person everywhere. Fuck you!

If you’re not one of the aforementioned, you might be one of those people who swear they hate V-Day, because of its commercialisation of “love” or whatever anti-consumerist sentiment you doggedly preach. Or you sit on the fence and claim to be unaffected by everybody else around you feeling so loved or loathsomely unloved. Really, we all know you’re poisoning your guts with jealousy and secretly so miserable that you don’t have anyone to call your valentine, that you’re close to hiding in the work toilet cubicle, in tears, cutting yourself. You are a loser and no one loves you. No one in this world finds you fuckable enough to even bother sending you an expensive piece of mass-produced cardboard with some rendition of a bare-assed, mutant baby with wings, sporting a deadly bow and arrow, printed on it. You’re in denial. And it is pathetic to watch you squirm in your insecurities while feigning nonchalance or contempt.

So what do you do on Valentine’s Day when you’re single?

Exchange gifts with your valentine – you’ll give them a portrait of them painted in your own blood and excrement and you’ll gift yourself with their underwear you stole… Have a romantic dinner for one and be mocked and pitied by waiting staff and other diners… Masturbate in the soft glow of all your scented candles, on your bed littered with dry scratchy rose petals to sounds of Barry White and cry yourself to sleep like the deranged freak you’ve turned into during the last week leading up to Valentine’s Day. You could attend the “anti-Valentine’s Day” parties, which number in the plenty but are so overplayed and filled with the likes of you who are purely there, in the hopes that you drunkenly hook up and validate yourself just a bit for one second before you realise how pathetic you both are, having loveless, drunk sex in the backseat of a car or down an alley.

My suggestion is… Well I don’t have one. I just don’t see a point in pretending to not care when secretly we all do, and wish we didn’t. We all want to feel a tad bit special sometimes and on the day when our attachment or lack thereof, is thrown under the spotlight more than usual, a good portion of the population will be close to suicide or remedying their depression by eating, drinking, fucking, or hiding under their blankets till it all goes away. However you choose to mask the pain and hide your shame, at least try do it so on February 15, you still have a shred of dignity and no long-term repercussions. That means no drunk texting your ex and no meaningless one night stand in a pub toilet without at least donning a condom.

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